


salamander

by ohimonfire



Category: Percy Jackson and the Olympians - Rick Riordan
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-21
Updated: 2015-10-21
Packaged: 2018-04-27 09:46:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 390
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5043568
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ohimonfire/pseuds/ohimonfire
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>sleeping, they wait for the sunrise.-— nico&bianca, before.</p>
            </blockquote>





	salamander

_'but whether it is going to warm your hearth or burn down your house, you can never tell.'_

* * *

 They're sitting on a bench in a crowded train platform, lost in a haze of smoke and oily smells and shouts of, 'I love you!' and, 'I'll see you in a few weeks, okay?'.

A mythomagic figurine— Ares, God of War— fumbles through his hands. The statue feels so natural in his hand, almost beckoning. But, his hands slip; he drops it.

"Shit," swears Nico. "Goddamnit."

Bianca, usually one to hide in her floppy hat and ignore him, whirls around with eyes alight, glaring with uncharacteristic fire. Nico cowers, snatching the figurine off the floor and holds it up as if to ward off a blow, squeezing oh-so-tight.

"Watch," she growls— it's bleeding— his hand— a red trickle streaming slowly down his wrist; it's warm— "Your fucking language."

He's looking at the floor now, muttering 'I'm sorry's and 'It won't happen again, I swear!'s. However, the moment her back is turned he waves his hand angrily at her, middle finger askew. A passing woman gapes at him in shock, and Bianca is suddenly towering over him again.

_She was watching in the window,_ he realizes vaguely. _She was watching in the window._

His eyes are wide, staring at the cracks in the floor, back pressed against the wall in a futile attempt to make himself look smaller. He waits. Nothing happens. Ares rolls somewhere he can't place.

Slowly, he ventures to look up. Bianca is looking at him, but not with the towering rage that he had expected. She's looking at him in concern. _Concern_. That's a foreign word, he thinks— at least, when directed ar him.

"You're bleeding," she notes.

"Yeah."

"Are you alright? I'm sorry."

"'t wasn't your fault."

"I'm sorry."

They're back on the bench. Nico looks down at his feet. There's another figurine, he notes. Smaller. Less threatening. It's Hestia, he realizes. _I should get rid of this one_ , he thinks to himself, but he remains seated, bag clutched in one hand and the figurine in the other.

In another moment: Bianca's asleep, now, head rolling sideways onto his. He settles back. Comfortable. Warm. A fire blazes to life, somewhere, maybe in a trashcan. This is. . . Nice. . . and comfy. . . and warm.

Sleeping, they wait for the sunrise.


End file.
